Antivan Episodes
by maradeux
Summary: Sequel to "An Assassin's Childhood." My story about Zevrans youth in Antiva before he goes to Ferelden to meet the Grey Wardens. Based on Zevran's dialogues in Dragon Age: Origin. (English translation of "Antiva Episoden") Warning: sex and violence. What do you expect - it's about Zevran. ;)
1. Prelude

_This is the sequel to my story "An Assassin's Childhood." The childhood story of Zevran is over. The "Antivan Episodes" will tell about his time as a young assassin. Some will only describe brief moments - images of memory, which briefly flare. Others will be a little longer. They will end on the day when Zevran starts on his journey to Ferelden ..._

_Explanation: My Zevran stories are based on the world of Dragon Age with its continent of Thedas. The main characters Zevran, Taliesen and Rinna as well as numerous peripheral characters (Prince Azrin, Princess Feranna, Isabela and her husband Luis, the "Wealthy Target", Salvail) are the intellectual property of Bioware. I use all available knowledge from the games, the related books and comics. Core of my story are Zevran's dialogues in Dragon Age: Origins._

_Most of the other characters in the stories are my own creations. Also a few characters of friendly fanfiction writers will have shorter or longer cameos in the "Antivan Episodes" – of course with their permission._

* * *

**Antivan Episodes**

**_„I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often… both as an assassin and lover." _**

**_(Zevran, dialogues, DA:O)_**

* * *

**Prelude**

It's the year twenty-four of the Dragon Age. Zevran has been with the Crows for a whole decade now. And though he will only be seventeen this summer, this is already his third year as a contract killer…

* * *

**_Memories_**

_Memories are islands in the sea of oblivion. There are moments, situations, sad, exciting or halcyon. Sometimes a whole year is so intense that one still recalls every moment. Then there may be months and years that fade. For everyday life, there is no room in the retention._

The daily business of a Crow consisted of murder contracts. They became routine. But he reminded himself to commemorate the lives he had taken by collecting trophies. They were in his chest, in the top drawer, leftmost in a box. The buckle on the mage's shoe, the collar button of a merchant from Seleny, the hairpin of a noble lady who had betrayed her husband. By whom was this belt buckle? Oh, that was that prince's son, who was in the way of his brother.

Also the knife from Sûl's hands was placed there. For he considered him as his victim, killed by his words and his departure. The Dalish had sent him his body, a silent accusation. This knife ... Zevran was sure that it had been his own knife while he had lived with the clan. Back then he had changed the handle, made it bulbous and carved grooves into it, so it lay more comfortable in his hand. That Sûl had used this knife to kill himself, could only mean one thing: He wanted to show the other elf, who was the real killer.

Zevran confessed to his guilt. He was an assassin. Who came too close to him, paid with his life. The elf closed the drawer and went on his way. It was time for his next job.

* * *

**_Flames_**

When he was returning from his mission he saw a strange flickering in the dark. He followed it and heard the clink of striking metal. Figures in a silent, fast dance, a sword fight.

An elf in a black, sleek leather armor with an unusual metal belt and long, silver blond hair - it was Master Antonio. He moved quickly and gracefully, turned and swung his arms. It was the first time Zevran saw someone fighting with two swords, equally skilful and strong conducted by both hands. Around the curved blades red flames were blazing.

The Master was fighting against two opponents. When he gave the man in front of him the death blow, the second threatened to stab him in the back. Lightning fast Zevran was on the spot and rammed the attacker his dagger between the ribs. At the same moment Antonio turned around. With the swing of his blades he cut off the head of the already dead man. The corpse collapsed, the head rolled down the lane.

Masters and young assassin stood facing each other. Zevran saw fire in Antonio's otherwise expressionless eyes - burning passion. His heart pounded with excitement and admiration. He opened his mouth to an inquiring whisper: "Flame swords?" It was the first time that he saw the Master's face smiling: "Lyrium runes," was all he said.

Then he led his right blade with a quick movement narrowly over Zevrans bare forearm. The fine blonde hairs were scorched, at his skin a red stripe was formed by the heat. Surprised, the young elf looked at his arm, ran his right hand over the burning spot. When he looked up again, the Master had disappeared.

* * *

**_Relaxation_**

Sex had become the main tool of the young Crow; as well as his deadliest weapon. He measured his success in the sensual moans of his victims. And he also enjoyed the ability to manipulate his companions. He had tried them all, his entire group and a few others from the Arainai cell. All but one...

Taliesen slumped in his chair and groaned. It had been a long day - they had to follow a trace through half the city and then had to wait hours in an alley to track down their prey. Finally they were successful: The target was dead, his three companions as well. A nasty cut on Taliesen forearm had since been bandaged, but he had lost a lot of blood and looked pale. Zevran stood behind him and began to massage his shoulders and neck. "Come, relax a little. At best, you lie down on your bed," he smiled.

Taliesen muttered and moaned softly, "I know exactly what you're up to, Zev. But forget it, I don't fancy men."

The Elf chuckled. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, I only want you to relax. I can massage well, believe me."

"All right, then ..." The teamleader gave in. He wearily sat down on his bed. Zevran helped him to undress, instructed him to lie down and began to massage him thoroughly and extensively. Back, neck, head, arms, legs - his warm, well-trained hands were everywhere. His pressure was neither too soft nor too hard. He carefully avoided the injury.

Whether Taliesen liked it or not, the touch attracted him. His whole body relaxed, only a certain part was doing the opposite. Of course, the elf noticed this and increased his efforts. Again and again his fingers slid casually over hips and thighs of the human to the source of his arousal. He played with him and enjoyed every reaction of this hot, pulsating muscle. There was no doubt, not the slightest, that he would drive this man to ecstasy...

Zevran grinned mischievously, "See, I knew this would happen."

"Do not be vain of it," the young man said wearily. "I admit that was the best massage I've ever got. I enjoyed it very much, but I still do not fancy you. Not in this way."

"Oh? A part of you seemed to be of a different opinion," smirked the elf, "But I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give." His fingers once again brushed gently over the uninjured arm of the man before the elf got up from the bed of his capo and walked slowly towards the door.

Taliesen shook his head and grinning closed his eyes while rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You are incorrigible, Zevran."

"I get that a lot," winked the elf. Taliesen had fallen asleep. Zevran left his room with a smile. He ran his fingers through his hair and knocked on Ginera's door.

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_I hope you enjoyed the short prelude. I will post the first chapter in the coming days. As always I would be happy about reviews, favorites and follows. :) _


	2. Part I Chapter 1: Midsummer

_I'm happy about my first follower! :) I'm glad you found my story though it wasn't in the list (must be a bug I think)._

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**Antivan Episodes**

**Part I FIRE**

_"Some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?"_

_(Zevran's Dialogues. Dragon Age: Origin)_

**Chapter 1: Midsummer**

The streets were flickering, the air over the canals was steaming. At noon it was oppressively hot in the city. Who could ever manage it, stayed indoors. The young businessman Lorenzo had the heavy curtains of his office closed and worked in the twilight. A few transactions were waiting to be dealt with, a meeting with the mayor had to be arranged, and he had to give some orders to Yago - the master of his Crow cell.

The son of the former senator was standing behind his desk, a sheet of paper in his hand he studied attentively. He tapped the pen against his underlip. Lorenzo had chin length dark hair, a long, narrow nose and dark blue eyes under thick eyebrows. The upward twirled mustache he had worn for only a couple of months. After the fashion of the season his white shirt was ruffled and tied with a loose strap on the collar. The dark gray coat with silver buttons he wore open.

There was a knock and Martha di Manico entered, the daughter of the former mayor. Lorenzo got up and walked towards his fiancee. He admired her look in this full-skirted dress of dark green silk. It was laced in the middle so that her breasts were lifted, her stomach was tightened. He smiled with a hint of concern. "You look wonderful, mia dolce, but does this not hurt you?" He stroked her constricted abdomen. Martha was not slim. And her face with the small eyes, the upturned nose and the short chin was nothing one would call beautiful at the first sight. By the time when she had contacted him to speak about the death of both their fathers, he had not thought that he would ever fall in love with her. But her energy, intelligence and compassion had changed his view over time. He had seen her shine like an angel. That had been the moment when he had lost his heart to her.

Martha kissed her fiance briefly, but tenderly, "Do not worry, Lorenzo, it does not hurt. I'm fine and I am glad you like the dress. It is from Val Royeaux." She went to his desk and glanced at the papers he had been busy with. "You want to meet up with Curantigno? Be careful!" She looked over at him worriedly.

Lorenzo smiled: "Do not worry, Yago will accompany me and at least one of his groups, I do not think Arainai will attack me openly, he is too sneaky." He stroked a strand of hair from his fiancee's forehead. It was he who had recommended her to coif her blond hair differently, no longer pressed so tightly to her head. Every morning a hairdresser conjured wonderful curls with a curling iron. The procedure took a long time and slightly hurt, but to please her betrothed, she bore these small troubles.

The young woman sighed: "I hope you are right." She remembered how they had tried to investigate the murders of their fathers. The fact that it was murder, was not in question for either of them. The tracks led quickly to Arainai, the more suspicious because one of his minions had taken over the mayor's post. But they were not able to prove anything. It must have been spies in their homes. Martha had suspected her young tutor and released him soon after the events.

For a moment, she had also thought of the blond scullion, as he had been recommended by the tutor. But she rejected that idea again - he had been so young, half starved and always looked so tired. That he could not be found in any of the orphanages had rather put her in concern for him, as that created suspicion. She had felt sorry for him, and she just hoped he was alive and had found work elsewhere.


	3. Part I Chapter 2: Rogelio

_Greetings to my second follower. :) (And I finally found my story in the list.)_

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**I.2 Rogelio**

The heavy air and the stench in the harbor area were unbearable during this season. Already in the morning hours, the heat was brewing along the narrow streets. One had to be young and accustomed to the climate not to suffer too much from it. Both seemed to be applicable to the blond elf who was going along the way besides the Fisher Canal with light, quick steps. He was clad in a red frock coat with long sleeves - a warm piece of clothing on such a hot day, but well suited to hide his weapons. His face was made up with a bronze powder.

Zevran was in good spirits. He had accomplished a quick mission in the previous night - a blacksmith and armorer. To his delight, there had been a small, refreshing sword fight which he had escaped unhurt. The victim had laid for hours in the storage room of the shop - killed with one of his own swords. The criminal investigation in Antiva belonged not to the best - suicide, accident or the Crows - who cared? Dead was dead.

The rest of the night the assassin had allowed himself to be regaled by his favorite harlot Lovianne in the „Angelo Sanguigno". Now he was walking smiling through the streets of the waterfront, looking forward to the expected reward and marveled at the sight of the royal palace in the morning sun - the blinding white of the towers, the bright gold of the domes in contrast to the intense blue sky. No wonder that this image animated so many artists - it was one of the favorite motifs, which were being sold on the market at the harbor.

Zevran felt a touch on his arm and instantly had a hand at his dagger.

"Rogelio" shouted a familiar voice with joy. The memory carried him two years back - Rogelio used to be his alias in the house of the Manicos. The name sounded strange in his ears, it was rarely mentioned - mostly they just called him "boy". The voice that had stated this name belonged to the Signora. "Rogelio, my angel, I had looked for you everywhere!" He could hardly recognize the woman. Where had her beauty and vitality gone? Her hair was dull, her eyes cloudy and lifeless. Her face was bloated; her figure seemed limp and crooked. She seemed to have aged by many years.

A storm of thoughts went through his mind. Decisions had to be made in seconds - stop or go? Deny his identity or reveal himself? Kill or let live? The elf was trained enough to hide his shock. Of course, he had been negligent, had not hidden, had given too little attention to the environment. Something that should not have happened. Now there was not much choice but to prevent too much evidence. They were an odd couple - the young elf in an expensive velvet suit, the noble, but unkempt lady.

The assassin had decided. He kissed the signora and pulled her into a side street. Her face contorted into a mistaken laughter, the splayed fingers of her trembling hand crossed like spider legs over his face. "But here you are, finally!" What had happened to her? Was she insane? A consequence of the loss of her husband? Who would believe her if she told someone she had met him? And yet - could he risk it? He took her hand in his and stroked it. "You are still beautiful, signora, as back then." Again he kissed her, in a way that had to take her breath away. She clutched his arm, almost lost consciousness. "My angel, what are you doing? ... I feel so dizzy."

Zevran held the woman in his arms. "This is just the heat, Signora." He pulled a small crystal bottle from his coat. "Here, drink something, this will help you." She took the bottle, sniffed at it, began to drink. It seemed to her taste. After a few sips the assassin pulled the woman's hand away, took the bottle back, smiling. "Not so much, Signora, that's enough." he laughed. "You look a lot better now." He stroked her face. "I must go, unfortunately. Are you getting along all right?" he whispered and gave her a last, fleeting kiss.

He left the woman in the alley. She stood smiling and touched her lips, "Rogelio, sweet angel," she whispered. Moments later, she went off for the port. She swayed, babbled and laughed. Some passers-by turned, shaking their heads at her. When she finally collapsed, it took a long time until someone stopped to look after the woman who lay dead on the canal bank.

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_If you missed Signora di Manico you could read more about her in the second part of "An Assassin's Childhood": "A Contract with Consequences"._

_I'm always happy about your reviews, favorites and follows. :)_


	4. Part I Chapter 3: The Decision

_Thank you, dear readers, for another follower, a favorite and - most of all - for the first review for this story. Yay! :)_

_Many thanks to Corkerite for her help with the chapter! :)_

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** I.3 The Decision**

"I want my own team."

the young elf had presented his demand calmly and firmly. Bewilderment and anger were mingled in Taliesen's usually arrogant face. The teamleader had certainly expected much when Zevran had asked him for a conversation in private. But not this... It took a few moments before he was back to his usual mood. He began to laugh softly. "Do you really think this would be a good idea, Zevran? You are fast with the dagger and a champion in seduction, but a great strategist, you're not. There are more important things about a Capo than a nice title." He twisted his mouth contemptuously.

The addressed elf remained serene, only his eyes narrowed mockingly. "I know what I can, I do not need confirmation from your hand. But I thought it would be courteous to tell you this, before it becomes common knowledge."

They were in Taliesen's room. It was a bit more spacious than the quarters of the simple assassins. Taliesen sat in the armchair next to the chimney - the fire remained unused in the summer - he put his left leg bent to the right knee and watched the younger Crow with his piercing, gray-blue eyes.

The evening sun shone through the high windows and gave Zevran's hair a reddish blaze. The elf wore no armor, only a light, loose shirt and close-fitting trousers to his boots. He had one arm akimbo; the other hand was resting on the window sill. The gesture should probably be self-confident and strong, but it seemed particularly captivating...

"But ... why?" The teamleader looked unusually hesitant. A frown formed on the base of his nose. "You had agreed to be part of my team. We work well together. Or not? ... I thought the thing with Sergio would have long since been resolved."

He watched what the mention of his former tutor would trigger at Zevran. But no emotion was visible in the face of the elven assassin. "It is not about Sergio. He's long dead," The elf spoke in a steady voice. Taliesen relaxed inwardly.

"I want to be my own boss. Master Antonio has encouraged me." In Zevran's eyes determination and pride were glowing. "I will not miss the chance to become the youngest Capo that has ever been in the Crows."

Taliesen bit his lips. He had previously been the youngest teamleader of the cell. He himself something special. Of course he understood Zevran. But just let him go like that? "Have you forgotten what I've done for you?" He squeezed out the words between his teeth, struggling with his impotent fury.

Zevran laughed: "You mean how you had me almost tortured to death and then saved me? No, how could I forget." His eyes flashed, but it was not hatred, it was a challenge.

The young Capo looked at the elf, then away from him out of the window. He had never revealed to him what had really moved him to do all he could for him - even asking the Master of the cell for support. Taliesen had watched the young elf, his development, his aptitude - earlier than Ginera had told of him. He had been envious of Sergio about this young talent. He wanted to possess him, to use him for his purposes. Zevran for him was the jewel of the treasure he had wanted to conquer.

Sergio's death, he had at first regarded as a "happy coincidence". When Zevran suddenly disappeared, he began to suspect the other teamleader must have been more for the boy than just a hero to whom he looked up. And that the elf had besides all his strengths also his weaknesses. Emotionality and impulsiveness were traits that did not fit well in the model of a good Crow. Something that had to be "expelled" of the boy if he would still have a chance after his escape.

Taliesen had got that chance and would almost have lost him for the second time ... He thought again of those difficult days and weeks. The complex talks, when he had to justify why it was so important to him to save the half-dead boy. He remembered his expensive bid on Trinibelli - he wanted to take over the organization of that mission to "conquer" Zevran.

All in all, a high level of commitment that had finally paid off. For his protégé had not disappointed him. A number of successful missions had made the Taliesen team the most important of the cell within only one year. Antonio looked at the young teamleader as his right hand. But the Master knew exactly whom these successes were mainly due.

"You cannot hold me, I have a right to form my own team" Zevran reiterated. "I've been looking after people. There is a talented scout and lockpicker who is interested. I also have some of last year's alumni in sight."

Taliesen looked to the ground, striving to hide his feelings. Of course, the elven assassin was right. He himself would have done the same. What an opportunity - Capo with seventeen. Who would miss it? "That will go utterly wrong." He chuckled, shook his head. "But all right. I'll let you go... I just want us to fight."

Now the wonder was on Zevran's side. "How do you mean that - to fight?" he asked skeptically.

The teamleader rose and came closer to his former protégé, now also his arms akimbo. Elf and human faced each other closely, either eyes determined. The size gap was clear. "Not to death," Taliesen said quietly. "Until the first is in a hopeless situation. Only the two of us, among us. It is for a decision, my decision."

The elf considered what Taliesen could be planning. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. "All right, I don't shun the battle. But you have no right to hold me, even if you win the fight."

"I know that," said Taliesen. "Shall we go?"

* * *

They met in the sparring room. It was night, they were alone. Some sconces provided a diffuse light. They had agreed on simple clothes and only one dagger. Now they stood facing each other and lay in expectation - waiting, who would attack first.

Taliesen took a step, Zevran evaded. The teamleader parried the elf's attack with his arm. Zevran jumped back.

They danced and wrestled. Two, who knew each other so well. They suspected the movements of the other, planned their own. One superior in size and strength, the other in speed and dexterity. They dodged, parried, ducked, jumped away and ran at the other again. The fight lasted a long time. Both were already out of breath, sweating, their eyes glowing with the will to win.

Who would stumble first, getting tired first? Was that a tremor in Zevrans hand? Taliesen leaped forward, the elf back. The teamleader faltered and suddenly Zevran was behind him, jumped him in the back. The man fell, Zevran in his neck, dagger at his throat. That was the hopeless situation. Taliesen gave up.

"All right," he snorted. "You have won. I've decided ..." The elf stood up and released the young man. Taliesen turned around, sat down with his legs stretched out, put his hands on the floor behind him, supported his weight with his arms. He threw his head back, gasping for breath. Eventually he looked in Zevran's face: "I give up my position as teamleader, I join your team."

Zevrans eyes widened in astonishment. "Are you serious? You do not want to be a teamleader anymore?" He swallowed.

"I will not repeat myself." Taliesen pressed between his teeth. "Do you accept or not?"

The elf provided his hand to the olderCrow in order to draw him into the stand. "I accept your offer." He smiled.

* * *

"Ginera is very similar to you in terms of her abilities ..." Taliesen noticed. "Melee, poison, seduction."

Zevran grinned: "That has never disturbed. Why should it bother me now? She is the perfect addition, my counterpart for all men and women who prefer female curves." The elf smiled, forming corresponding shapes with his hands in the air.

The former teamleader and the new discussed the composition of the new team. A meeting in the large round had preceded. The surprise about Taliesen's decision was great, but most of his team members had agreed to go with him to Zevran.

"Whom else do you take in?" asked the young man.

"Thieves and lock pickers ..." noted the elf: "I have a very talented man who used to be my roommate, Genaldo. And Urbano from your group." Zevran interrupted his speech and pushed a few snippets on the paper - which he had laid on the table - back and forth. "Archers you bring enough. I have canceled all others who were interested."

The dark-haired man nodded, "Valentin and Kemen are the best - both still from Sergio's team." Once again Taliesen gazed searchingly at the elf. Zevran remained unmoved.

"That should be enough," said Taliesen. Remember, the larger the group, the more expensive it is."

Zevran winked: "So, we must be very active and successful, no?"


	5. Part I Chapter 4: Proofless

_Thank you very much for another review. :) Rinna is near, but it will take some time until they meet. ;)_

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**I.4 Proofless**

The woman at the roadside was lucky. There was something that kept her from being thrown into the canal or the mass graves on the southern outskirts, as it happened with countless corpses: she looked rich. And besides the fact that soon all the buttons and beads from her dress had disappeared, her pockets had been emptied, there was a specific interest of the administration to determine her identity so that her relatives may pay for the clearing away of the corpse and the burial. And thus it was that the remains of Signora di Manico were brought to senator Piorentin's house. He was responsible for the financial sector of the city. The senator recognized the woman as the host of numerous banquets and immediately sent a messenger to Lorenzo and his fiancee.

Martha was alone when Piorentin's envoy arrived. Lorenzo was on his way to a business meeting. She went into the house of the financial senator to see the corpse of her mother. The decay had already begun, but she recognized her. The face was peaceful and relaxed. For the daughter, it was an old familiar expression, a reminder of happier times. As if she had found back her former charm in the death. Tears flooded Martha's eyes. Her mother was wearing one of her favorite dresses, of yellow silk - it was torn, dirty, the buttons were missing. With trembling hands the young woman stroked the familiar delicate fabric. When they finally touched the cold stiff hand of the dead, she drew her fingers back in alarm. Signora di Manico had become not even forty. How did she die?

The senator shrugged his shoulders. "Heatstroke, probably. It was very hot in recent days. We couldn't find any traces of violence."

"Were there any witnesses? Have no one noticed anything?"

Piorentin raised his eyebrows. "There was no need for a survey."

"No need? When the widow of the former mayor falls dead? Where was she found? I want to see the place."

The senator took the young woman in his study. He spread a city map on his desk and pressed his index finger to a point in the waterfront.

"Thank you." Martha left the house. She was upset and tears were running down her cheeks. She did not even think about how dangerous it was for her to move alone in the city. Maybe it was her luck that she did not follow narrow lanes and had not to go far - Lorenzo's home was only a few hundred meters away from the villa of the senator, in the same noble district, on the Via di Santa Michaela.

Lorenzo found his fiancée crying in her room, sitting in her chair, her back to the door ...

"Martha?" He hugged her and sat beside her. "What happened?" She looked at him, her face swollen with tears. "Mother, they found her. In the docks along the canal. She's dead!" She sobbed, leaning on the shoulder of her fiancé. He stroked her, trying to calm her with gentle words: "I'm so sorry, Martha. What could your mother have wanted to do in the waterfront." he wondered.

Martha shook her head. "I have no idea." She tried to calm down, sniffled softly. "I should not have let her alone. We would have to take her with us into the house. I knew that she did not cope with father's death... I would have had to take care of her."

The tears flowed, she could not prevent it. Why only had she admitted that her mother was left alone. The lady had insisted on staying in her house, but in her condition ... that was irresponsible. Obviously one could not rely on the servants. As Martha and her fiancé visited the house of the Manicos the next day, they found it in a dilapidated condition. The staff had gone. And with them paintings, jewelry, cutlery ... Martha was not sure if that all had happened in the last few days since the disappearance of the Signora, or even before. She blamed herself that she had seen no more for her mother.

* * *

Martha had insisted that they visited the place where her mother had died together. It was an area in which they would otherwise never dare to go - smelly, dirty and poor. Martha put her steps carefully, she feared of being bitten by rats or to step into garbage. With horror she watched as the hem of her expensive dress was soiled by the street filth. But she went on - there had to be something to find.

The couple looked at each spot on the road and in the back alleys. They asked the passers-by, all residents at the doors or windows, even the beggars. In fact, they found a few who could remember the woman. That she had acted drunk and had then fallen over. Otherwise, none knew anything to say.

Disappointed the both returned back home. "What do you think?" Lorenzo asked. She looked him in the eye. "I do not think my mother has just died for no reason. We have found nothing, no evidence, no witnesses that would point to a murder, but that does not mean she cannot have been killed."

"Do you have any idea, how?" asked her fiancé incredulously.

"I do not know." she said, lowering her head. "But why should she die? She was confused, perhaps more disturbed even than I wanted to admit, but physically she was perfectly healthy, she could have become old, very old. Ultimately... It might have been the Crows, just as the killed our fathers. "

Lorenzo looked at his wife very seriously. "You know I'm always on your side. But do you not exaggerate in this case? We really have no proof for anything."

"I know, I know." A single tear ran down Martha's cheek. "Call it intuition or whatever, I just do not believe in a natural death of my mother."

He lifted her chin with one hand. "I understand you. And - if murder or not. The Crows are responsible for the death of your mother. She only became ill because they had killed your father. I will avenge them all, do you hear me? They will pay for what they have done to us."


	6. P I Ch 5: The Master and His Principal

_Thank you very much for your reviews, Kyla Baines. Also for following my story. I'm always happy when I see someone who enjoys reading it. :)_

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**I.5 The Master and His Principal**

"Yago." Lorenzo asked the master of his Crow cell with a welcoming gesture to his office, bid him to sit down in one of the massive leather chairs in front of the fireplace and offered him a drink. The master refused, he just wanted a glass of water. Lorenzo watched his Crow master with a stern look as he collected his words. Yago was tall, athletic, slim, in his mid-thirties. His face had something that made him seem dangerous. Maybe the thin lips, perhaps the sharp look of his yellow-green eyes. His dark hair was cut very short. A long scar that ran from the left ear over the skull was clearly visible. The distinctive chin and the by strong jaw bones formed cheeks were - despite regular shaving - always covered with a dark beard shadow.

Yago was inaugurated in Lorenzo's family history. Still, he listened patiently as the senator's son explained him once again the case in detail. The businessman had planned to purchase a full cell, but that presented itself more difficult than he had imagined. There were no free operating Crow cells. Each belonged to the house of a noble or otherwise influential family. New cells could not be acquired completely, one had to build them up. A family friend helped, he represented a subset of his own cell. The experienced Capo Yago had received the consecration for a master, but within his cell he could not rise any further and was therefore committed to independence. His best team members he appointed to teamleaders, his closest confidant he assigned as successor and had him go through the mysterious consecration, without which no crow could obtain the Master. Outsiders were not privy to these events, not even the individual employers.

The cell was still under construction. Three groups were looking for recruits, but Yago's attitude was very confident, almost intimidating. Lorenzo found it difficult to cope with the gaze of the Crow master. He cleared his throat. "Well, you know the situation. Arainai and his cells are too dangerous. ... You have to destroy them."

Yago considered his principal in disbelief, finally broke into peals of laughter. Lorenzo was uncertain, his voice cracked "Who do you think you are? You should keep your temper!"

The Crow master looked at the senator's son sneering with a grin. "Excuse me. But do you know that Arainai has the sovereignty over the best training facility of our pupils? He not only fishes the most talented out for his own cells, he has consistently trainees. To destroy his cell is just as impossible as eradicate Antiva's sewer rats. To minimize them, contain them, weaken them - that might be possible. Destroying everything - no. I cannot accept this order."

Lorenzo overcame his anger, tried to keep his composure. "Well ... and Arainai himself?"

Yago looked amusingly at the glass of water in his hand. "An influential family. A clan of powerful manipulators. Hard to get close to them... If you want to hear my advice." He got up and came closer to the senator's son, he was just over half a head taller than him. "We catch the Masters, thin out the cells, invade the accommodations and the training center. But you should not be in the city when the attack starts. Take your girl and see that you are far away. In a place your enemies don't know."

Lorenzo was reflecting. The proposal of his Crow master sounded reasonable, but demanded a lot of preparation. "All right. Then this is your job. I'll be looking for a home for my family. You prepare your people. I will certainly need a few months until something suitable is found and configured. How about you? "

"We are planning during fall and winter. We will also continuing with the construction of the cell. We could be ready for the attack in the next spring, if you are content."

* * *

The funeral of Signora di Manico overshadowed the celebrations of Funalis. A few weeks later, the couple hosted their wedding. At both events, all the big names of the city were invited. Senator Piorentin appeared with his family, as well as opera director Valandrez with his open-hearted wife, who was in tears on both occasions. Of course, the Arainais were invited too. Yagos cell was ready for an attack, but it came as the Master had predicted - only mayor Curantigno appeared together with wife and asked to excuse his "uncle" - the first time a business appointment came amiss, the next time it was supposed to be the flu.

Throughout the autumn and winter the young couple was on an extended honeymoon that took them to Rialto, Treviso, and even to Ayesleigh and Brynnlaw. Lorenzo was worried about his wife. She spoke little, retired from all activities and he constantly saw her nibbling something - biscuits, confectionery, savory pastries. When he addresses the topic, as gently as possible, she reacted squeamishly and angrily, threw the cookie jar, or whatever she was holding in her hand through the room, slammed the doors. She increased significantly. This bothered Lorenzo less. He missed her amiable, strong character.

The merchant went to consult experts who have tried a variety of treatments - bloodletting and cupping, all kinds of juices and tinctures. He traveled to the Tower of the Magi, to see if Martha was perhaps possessed by a demon. The mages did not find any evidence of an obsession in the Fade. However, they recommended a lengthy and expensive treatment with healing magic. This ultimately led to the conclusion that Lorenzo bought an estate near Treviso and settled there with his wife. An envoy delivered the message to Master Yago in Antiva City. It was in the month of Drakonis - the third of the year, just before the end of the rainy season.


	7. Part I Chapter 6: The Assault

_Thank you for another nice review, Kyla Baines! :)_

_In this chapter you meet Rayninne (originally Rayen) for the first time. She is a character by Shadow of Light who wrote her for the Unoffizial Zevran DLC. Thank you that she was allowed to appear in my story, Shadow. :)_

* * *

**I.6 The Assault**

The domicile of Arainai's cells consisted of a complex of several interconnected buildings in a middle-class quarter. Except Crows, craftsmen and lower officials mostly lived here. The buildings were made of limestone bricks, many were plastered with marble chips, which gave them a very noble appearance. But there was a lot of marble available in this area and split was only a waste product. The quarter shone in a deceptive richness. The houses had three or four floors. Rows of windows and small balconies were usually incorporated with cornices. On the upper floor, there were generally larger terraces. Many roofs were flat, the streets narrow. Above them walkways leaded from one house to another. The inside of the buildings consisted of long, narrow corridors, tight, high steps. Most rooms were small and simply decorated.

For many years the Arainai Crows had lived, worked and taught here. There was no reason to conceal or to change the location. The Crows were no official authority, but they were established throughout society, interwoven with money, power and nobility up to the royal family. There was no one you had to fear as a Crow, except for other Crows. For night operations, one often moved over the city's rooftops. They allowed rapid movement and overview. The roof hatches of the Arinai buildings were probably more frequented than the entrances.

As Ginera rose from the roof hatch to start a night job, an arrow met her shoulder. A second later a further arrow penetrated her belly. More arrows buzzed just past the elven woman. In no time, she slipped back through the hatch into the house. Yet she felt no pain, was only limited in her movement, but she knew they would come ... As she moved down the narrow staircase to the third floor, she twisted her mouth contemptuously. Those were Crows, without question, but they were bad. Had there been snipers of their team, she would not be alive anymore...

She knocked on Taliesen's door, once again, "forgetting" who was her teamleader. But no one called her in, the door was locked. Quietly cursing, she dragged herself down the corridor to the next door. Zevran opened with a charming smile and eyebrow raised: "Hmmm?" Then he noticed the injury, and his amused arrogant face became serious. He called Taliesen, who had stayed in his room. The elder should convene the team and get the healer. He himself brought Ginera to her room. He remained with the elven woman, let her tell everything about the incident on the roof in detail. The conversation with the young mage in the coach came to Zevran's mind, he had almost forgotten about it.

After a few minutes Jove, the old healer of the cell, arrived, accompanied by a young, black-haired woman, apparently his aspirant. Zevran knew the woman - she had been one of his torturers some years ago. She was not of the sadistic sort, she had done her work in a rather indifferent and versed manner. The eyes of the teamleader narrowed. "Oh, a torturer becomes a healer? How unusual..."

"Both requires a good knowledge of anatomy." The woman replied with an apathetic voice and met the elf with a cold gaze of her gray eyes. "Hold here, Rayinne," said the old man. The young woman pressed her hand tightly to Ginera's belly while Jove pulled out the arrow with a quick movement. He closed the gaping wound immediately with a compress. The elven woman tried to suppress any sound of pain, only her strained face betrayed how much she suffered.

"How does it look?" Zevran turned to the older healer.

"The prospects are good. The wounds are not deep, the armor was able to detain the greatest force. However, the arrowheads were poisoned."

Zevran nodded. He had noticed the smell of deathroot. "I have to go to the group meeting," he said curtly and left the room.

The elf had a good stand as Capo, although he was younger than most of his people. He was respected, feared by some, admired by others. Ginera was the only one who still - after almost a year - had difficulties to acknowledge the younger as a new leader. The young assassin in his always cheerful mood, with his nonchalant glimpses and his flirtatious attitude was often underestimated by outsiders. Who knew him better - such as Taliesen - knew how ambitious he was. He managed not only to grab the most lucrative contracts for his group, he also took many single missions and taught young Crows in close combat on three mornings every week. Also he was willing to improve his own skills in the daily training. He allowed himself little spare time. His favorite method of relaxation was very familiar to all of the cell. And who had not yet been chosen by the teamleader was busy trying to attract his attention.

Zevran sent out his scouts and ordered everyone to be ready to fight. He ran up the stairs to the office of the Master. He found Antonio in the darkened room, looking attentively towards the window. Zevran followed his gaze. It needed a very trained eye to detect anything in the dark through the fine grid. He realized a flitting shadow on the opposite roof.

"Yago's people?"

The Master nodded.

"Was there a warning?"

"I suppose that's the warning." Antonio looked at the younger elf. "I convoke a gathering in the back meeting room. All Capos, in five minutes. "


	8. Part I Chapter 7: Crow War

_Many thanks to Shadow of Light Dragon for beta reading! _  
_Giulio and his wife Camilla are both characters by TanithAeyrs, written for the unofficial Zevran DLC. Thank you, Tanith, that they were allowed to have a brief appearance in my story. _

_And... thank you for another review, dear Kyla. :)_

* * *

**I.7 Crow War**

There were the marksmen on the roofs and villains lurking in the shadows of the alleys. Zevran's scouts counted at least thirty persons. None of them were tattooed on the face - house Lorenzo had other rules - they carried their signs on the hands, mostly hidden by gloves. Not everyone was as lucky as Ginera - in the first minutes of the surprising attack there had been several fatalities.

It was not an everyday situation for the cell, but not so unusual that it would have confused the in-emotional-control trained assassins. The groups discussed, the defense was organized. Archers were stationed at the windows, on balconies and terraces, looking for favorable angles to be able to target their opponents without being hit themselves.

A group of assassins used a secret passage leading from the basement to a nearby canal. From there they would try to overwhelm their opponents from behind. Taliesen and Zevran belonged to this group. The elf gave his orders with silent gestures. The group split up. It was a nearly simultaneous strike - at the same time six assassins stabbed from the shadows and six men were killed instantly.

But the success of the group was also its unmasking. Arrows flew from the rooftops - the Arainai Crows answered with arrows and bolts out of their homes. The melees waged an open war in the streets. Metal clanged, blood flowed, screams rang out. The fighting dragged on for ages. Morning dawned. Citizens came out of the houses to do their daily work, were upset, surprised, but also curious about the fight scenes. Some stood still, staring as one would watch an exciting play.

"Giulio!" Zevran heard the loud, desperate woman's voice nearby. For a moment he was distracted, his head turned in the direction from which the voice had come. He saw a man fall down, an arrow piercing his chest. He was not wearing armor that could protect him, only the simple suit of a merchant of the port area. The woman who hastened to the dying man was very pretty - long dark curls, doe eyes, golden brown skin. A colorful long skirt, a delicate blouse that gently caressed her tender body. She limped slightly.

"Zev, look out!" called Taliesen. But the warning came too late. Zevran's opponent had exploited the lack of attention to break through his defense. The elf reached for the dagger stuck in his belly as he collapsed - his legs would not longer obey him. Taliesen pounced on the adversary of his friend, kicking repeatedly until the enemy was backed into a corner, unable to escape. Gray eyes flashed in anger when the young man slit the throat of the other with a sharp blow of his dagger, then Taliesen left him bleeding and ran back to Zevran. The elf was still kneeling at the same place, had pulled the dagger from his stomach, pressed his left hand on the heavily bleeding wound. He looked pale.

"Can you walk?" asked Taliesen.

"Not without help, I'm afraid."

Taliesen squatted down beside Zevran, stretched his left arm around the other man's waist; the elf put his right arm around Taliesen's shoulders, searching for hold. They rose together, the elf suppressing a cry of pain. Due to their differences in height, the human had to remain slightly crouched.

They were near the small house on the canal, from which the secret passage led to the basement of their quarters. While the war raged on in the streets, Taliesen brought back his injured teamleader. The wound bled profusely, the steps of the elf were not sure, his legs were shaking. When they arrived in the basement, Taliesen cried out for help.

Rayinne was there. She stopped the torture of one of her proteges and instructed Taliesen to place Zevran on one of the racks. The elf was barely conscious, his blood-stained hand slid slowly from his stomach.

"Press on the wound!" Rayinne ordered Taliesen tautly. She disappeared briefly and then came back with a bag of bandages and instruments: forceps, knives, scissors - all carefully packed and cleaned. Quite possible they were often used for torture. Now they closed the wound on Zevran's belly very neatly. Without anaesthetic. Which would not have been necessary, even if the elf had been conscious. Everyone would have laughed at him if he had allowed himself a cry of pain.

"Rayinne?" shouted a voice from the next room.

"Yes?" called the young woman, without interrupting her work.

"What shall I do now with the boy here?"

"Increase one more step for ten minutes. Then you can put him in the oubliette until tomorrow." After a short pause she added, speaking low, barely audible in the next room: "Maybe he's lucky and gets rest for a few days, while Jove and I are busy with all the wounded."


	9. Part I Chapter 8: Fit For Use

_Here I am with a fresh new chapter of the "Antivan Episodes". And there is something new: The dear Kyla Baines was willing to overtake the difficult task as a beta-reader for me. Thank you so much for your help, dear Kyla. Your remarks really helped me a lot! If you, dear readers, find any more mistakes in my chapter - it's not her fault - it was my own revising._

_Also many thanks to the new followers and for your reviews, Kyla and Redi Chalyn. :)_

* * *

**Part I Chapter 8: Fit For Use**

Rayinne struck the assassin several times firmly on his cheeks and used a vial of smelling salts to wake him. He grimaced in disgust, then opened his eyes. Uncertainly, they searched the environment for answers - where he was and why he was here. He felt nausea and pain.

"See," Zevran raised his head, and clutched at his throbbing temples with an attempt at a smile. "Once again I find myself waking upon a rack, smitten by a lovely young woman... What sweet childhood memories..."

"Be glad you are still alive. It was a very close thing," said the healer harshly. "You cannot stay here, but be careful when you get up. I managed to patch you up somehow, but you're far from being healed."

With her face showing no emotion, she gave the assassin a bucket. Zevran sat up. He was dizzy, his stomach contents pushed relentlessly upward. He had to disgorge; dark red blood was in the vomit.

"As I said, it was close." The healer looked at the liver-like clots. She showed neither sympathy nor disgust. "The stab was very deep. I did what I could. Everything else is in the hands of the Maker." The assassin looked critically at the healer. Such a statement from her was nothing but a death sentence.

The young woman seemed to take no notice of his gaze. With a swift movement of her hands she straightened her dark hair and tied it to a fixed ponytail. "Incidentally, it was a very stupid idea of yours to pull out the dagger."

Zevran's eyes narrowed. "The blade was poisoned, my dear. A snake venom with paralyzing effect. What do you think would have happened if I would have lain motionless in the street?"

"Since you survived the first few seconds, I doubt that the poison would have been more dangerous than the loss of blood." The healer touched Zevran's carotid to feel the pulse. It was still very flat and fast. "You should drink plenty of water, preferably with sugar and salt. But be careful with food."

"I have no appetite anyway." Just the thought of food increased the nausea. "Where is Taliesen?"

Rayinne shrugged her shoulders. "Out in the streets, up to his quarters? He did not say what he wanted to do."

Zevran took a deep breath and stood up. He gritted his teeth against the pain, held tight to the stretching rack. His legs were trembling, the ground seemed to move. Before his eyes black dots were dancing. His stomach rotated. He had to vomit a second time. The assassin dropped his head on his chest and breathed deeply several times. Finally the swaying eased, and he moved into one of the adjoining rooms.

There were several large basins filled with water. Pipes were leading to the small cells which he remembered very well. It was simple canal water, dull and cold. Gazing it, Zevran realized how dirty he felt and how thirsty he was. His tongue stuck to his palate; and he could not wait to get rid of the bitter taste the reflowing stomach contents had left in his mouth. From a shelf on the edge, he took a towel, climbed carefully into one of the basins and began to wash his face and arms.

"Do not bathe with the abdominal wound," said the healer, who was now busy with another of the injured.

Zevran grinned. "I could use some help, someone to rub my back." He got no answer and sighed regretfully.

The old armor he could not use any longer. Rayinne had cut it in order to get to his wound as quickly as possible. As a cheap replacement the elf got a simple leather vest in the dressing room. He did not want to move through the house without any protection – who was to say the enemy had not already breached their sanctuary?

His sword had disappeared. He only found his dagger and the one belonging to his opponent and took both with him. Fighting nausea and dizziness, but his steps already more secure, he ran through corridors and stairs until he reached the floor of his room. There he met Taliesen in the hallway who greeted him with a mocking smile. "You look adorable, Zevran. As if you would fall over again any moment. And all because you could not take your eyes off a pretty pair of nipples once again."

"It would have been a shame to die without seeing this bosom," said Zevran, grinning. He leaned back against the wall, trying to make his attitude look as effortless as possible. "What is the situation?"

"Quiet. The Lorenzos have disappeared. The few who survived, anyway." Taliesen's eyes sparkled with pride and contempt. "Master Antonio has called all teamleaders to discuss the next steps. I was just ..."

"Ah ... nice of you." Zevran smiled sourly. "But thank you, a representative is no longer necessary." He took another flight of stairs, fighting against weakness and fatigue and trying to set his steps firmly. Under no circumstances should anyone doubt his suitability.


	10. Part I Chapter 9: Antonio's Plans

_You see that, Kyla - you've just started to beta for me and I've already got two comments concerning my improved grammar and writing. :) Thank you for doing such a wonderful beta-job for me, Kyla Baines and also many thanks for your reviews Kyla, Redi Chalyn and Arialla MacAllister! :)_

* * *

**I.9 Antonio's Plans**

The attack was repulsed, and thirty-six dead enemies were counted. Some of Lorenzo's people had been arrested to interrogate them. In contrast, the losses in the Arainai cell were comparatively low. There were eight deaths, all of them minor Crows. Ten more were seriously injured. With Zevran it would have been eleven, but the assassin - whose right arm was resting on the back of a high chair - tried hard to make his stab wound look trivial.

The crow master explained his plan for the counterattack. The teamleaders copied sketches and took notes. It was up to them to convey the orders to their groups as precisely as possible. "We have to be fast," the master concluded. "Yago and his people may not have time to recover. Be ready in two days. Your wounded should have recovered by then if you need their help." Antonio's inscrutable eyes wandered from one of the Capos to the next. When they reached Zevran's face, they stayed a bit longer than usual. "I myself will be there. Yago is mine." With a simple wave of his right hand, he signaled the end of the meeting. The teamleaders began to leave the office.

"Zevran, one moment ..." called the master after the assassin. The young elf stopped. He turned around and smiled nonchalantly. "Yes?" Nobody should see his shock, the increasing pain and nausea. Would the master ask him about his misconduct in the fight and his injuries?

Some of the other teamleaders turned around in wonder, but Antonio's voice and stony face gave away nothing of his intentions. Moreover, none of them would dare to stay longer than permitted in the office of the Master. They went, the door closed.

The Master instructed Zevran with a nod to come closer to him. He fixed the eyes of the younger from a short distance and spoke lowly but clearly. "This is a dangerous situation. If Yago's intention is to weaken the cell, I'm one of his main targets." „The Master went to the near window and looked out, his arms folded. The setting sun gave his silver hair a reddish gleam. "Our oldest teamleader, Javiero, is the only one aside from myself in our cell who has passed the consecration. That means, he is my only possible successor." Antonio spoke in a neutral tone. Zevran's only reaction consisted in raising a single eyebrow.

The master assassin turned around, came again a few steps nearer to the young. "How old are you now?"

"Eighteen in a few weeks." Zevran looked around inconspicuously for a support. He was unsteady on his feet. But the master did not seem to realize how bad it was for him.

"You're twenty, if someone should ask you." Antonio fixed Zevran with his mysterious dark blue eyes. "I want you to run through the master consecration. I want you as my possible successor in the case of my death. Twenty is the minimum age for both - the consecration and the charge of a Crow Master."

* * *

Zevran had drugged himself with a mild poison in order to sleep peacefully. At dawn, Antonio entered his room without knocking. Jove, the healer, was there to treat the wound. Externally, it was only a small puncture, the seam was clean. But the elf looked pale and feverish. The old healer applied an ointment with medicinal herbs before he put a new bandage on the wound.

Antonio said nothing to all of this. "We have to go," were the only words he spoke after the healer had left the room, greeting the Master with a respectful bow.

Zevran nodded, silently put on his clothes. He carefully avoided any signs of pain or weakness. Before they left, he ventured a question: "Why me?"

The master lifted the left corner of his mouth to a wry smile, his eyes lit up briefly. Then he turned and left the room, sojourning the door behind him. Zevran suspected that he may never get a tangible response from Antonio.


	11. Part I Chapter 10: The Consecration

_Thank you very much for your comments, Kyla Baines and Redi Chalyn! :)_

_The great and wonderful Kyla Baines helped me again with her marvelous beta reading skills - thank you so much! :)_

_And - I will go on my summer vacations next week. So I won't be near the internet for the next two weeks. So... see you in August for the next chapter! ;)_

* * *

**I.10 The Consecration**

In front of the house, a black carriage with dark curtained windows was waiting. Two unknown men - their tattoos indicating their senior rank in the Crows - were waiting for Zevran. The young assassin was blindfolded, the place was secret.

It was a bare, windowless room. Floor, walls and vaulted ceilings were made of simple, raw stones. Small trickles of stinking water revealed to Zevran that he was underground, somewhere in the tangle of Antiva's canals. Hundreds of candles on pedestals, tables, in corners and niches were the only light and heat source. On an altar in the center - which was stained with the blood from former rituals - lay a young man. His chest was moving lightly. His eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping peacefully.

"It is important that he is still alive," said an elf with a dark, sonorous voice. In a long, midnight blue robe, he walked slowly toward the visitors. Zevran had never seen him before. "I am master Dendayar, and a mage. Come over here. I must prepare you." He indicated a simple wooden chair that stood beside a table with strange instruments and equipment. Bulbous bottles and jars in various sizes, pliers, spoons, knives, bowls... An acrid smell came from these things, which increased Zevran's nausea.

While Zevran went to the assigned place, Antonio held the mage briefly back and whispered something in his ear. Dendayar nodded and walked slowly toward the young assassin. It was difficult to determine the age of the elven mage. A hood covered his hair; its shadow obscured his face. Piercing green eyes searched the pale face of the wounded elf. Cool hands touched his feverish forehead and felt the flying pulse at his carotid artery. Finally, the mage asked Zevran to open his shirt and to remove the bandages.

The master focused his hands on the wound in the belly of the assassin. The hands began to glow blue. Zevran felt a warm energy flowing through his organs. A comforting, healing feeling as if his wound would be closed on the spot. Pain and nausea abated. His heart came back to its usual quiet and powerful stroke. Only a metal taste in his mouth remained.

"Better?" asked the mage with a smile.

"Thanks," Zevran nodded approvingly. "Your skills are impressive and quite useful, I would say."

"Nothing of what you experience here will leave this room." The voice of the mage was sharp and menacing. Dendayar grabbed Zevran's left wrist, rubbed the inside of his forearm with a blue-tinted liquid. It prickled his skin, a feeling somewhere between tickling and burning. The mage took a knife, cut into Zevran's arm and collected some of his blood in a bowl. A short touch of his hand was enough to close the small wound again.

The assassin looked in astonishment at the spot to see nothing, not even a tiny scratch. It seemed so pointless to keep such power concealed. A mage with such skills in their cell could prevent many deaths, shorten recovery times. The skills of the known surgeons appeared ridiculous in contrast.

Dendayar approached the altar, a silver dagger glinting in one hand. With a flick of his wrist, he made a small cut on the boy's neck. As blood fell from the wound, the mage caught it in a simple bowl, his eyes gleaming eerily green. He put the vessel on a stone table, opened a vial of purple liquid, and let a few drops fall into the mixture. Then he muttered words in a foreign language. Fired burst from his hands. It transformed the dark red liquid into a deep black substance. This he brought to the young elf, "Drink this!"

Zevran hesitated: "Blood? I shall drink blood?"

"It is not simple blood," the master said. "It is a magical mixture. You have to drink it while it is warm, else this was all in vain." He put the bowl in Zevran's hands. His gaze allowed no opposition.

The elf took the vessel to his lips, closed his eyes and drank. The substance tasted disgusting. It burned his throat and his empty stomach. Zevran had not eaten for two days. It was hard for him to quell the nausea. He wondered what the effect would have been like had he not been healed earlier.

"Well," said Dendayar. "Do you feel something?"

"No," replied Zevran honestly. "Nothing but nausea and a burning sensation in the stomach."

The Master laughed, "That is the most honest answer anyone has ever given me." Zevran was again blindfolded. He was led around the room. Finally, someone gave him a dagger: "Find him," he heard the sonorous voice of the master: "Find the boy and kill him."

Though his eyes were covered, Zevran saw a diffuse red ring and went towards it. As he approached, mysterious runes were visible inside the ring. Perhaps ancient elven symbols? He was attracted to them - the ring was his goal and he stabbed in the middle. A short, faint sigh was heard. The master took off the blindfold. Zevran's dagger protruded from the heart of the young man on the altar.

"Congratulations, that was good," the mage said with satisfaction. "Not everyone hits his target the first time as accurately. You have talent. This is now your gift. You must learn to concentrate, then you can mark your targets magically and meet them more effectively."

"The boy was not simply asleep, right?" the assassin asked.

"Of course not, it was a magical sleep. And now - take advantage of your gift. From time to time it makes sense to repeat the blood ritual; you will feel if this is necessary. But make sure that the substance is pure. Let it never be contaminated by disease – or tainted in any way."

A new wave of nausea and a shudder went through Zevran's body. Surely, Dendayar hadn't been referring to the taint of darkspawn? Though he had never seen one of those vile creatures, he knew the old tales of heroic Grey Wardens like Garahel, who had ended the fourth blight. That had happened nearly four hundred years ago in the Antivan city of Ayesleigh. Zevran gave himself a shake – he wasn't normally sensitive to simple words, though his reaction could be an effect of the ritual, or indicative of a lingering fever.

Dendayar turned to Antonio, who had watched the whole incident in silence. He was sitting in a high chair in a dark corner behind the altar. "How about you, my friend?" asked the mage. "I have just the right woman for you. Sweet twenty, blond..."

The crow master drew the side of his mouth downward. "Not today, my old friend."


	12. Part I Chapter 11: Master Battle

_Hello everyone. :) I'm back from my vacations and the good news are - I have more chapters for you. I also got some reviews, new followers and favorites - you all make me very happy. Thank you! :)_

_But there are also some sad news. The marvelous Kyla Baines could only beta this chapter and one more for me; then she must finish her wonderful job, because she does not have enough time anymore. :( Dear Kyla - thank you so much for your help! I'll try to find another beta reader for the next chapters. If I don't find one, you, my dear readers, must live with my grammar mistakes again. Sorry. :(_

* * *

**I.11 - Master Battle**

Bloodthirst – a trait necessary to every Crow. The desire to hunt and to kill. Ambition and precision. Talent and elegance. Not everyone is suitable to be a Crow. Recruits are carefully selected among slaves, street children and orphans. You must be beautiful and strong. You need fire in your eyes. Otherwise, you won't become old. And old ... old in the Crows is about thirty.

Reputation increases with each year. Some young Crows are admired for their talent, others for their luck. But the true strength of an assassin is reflected in their ability to survive.

You are forty-eight, Master Antonio. You have already proven everything. Your fighting art, your ambition. A slave - an elf - who made it to the top of one of the most influential cells. What are you doing here? Why do you place yourself in reckless danger? Why do you confront this worthless person yourself? This would-be master, the upstart Yago? You could have left him to your teamleaders. Zevran and Javiero could have encircled and easily crushed him with their groups. But you let them only clear the way to secure the building. They killed the guards - up to that door. This you opened alone. You did not allow any company. You view this as a personal matter. Eye to eye with your challenger.

There he stands; the human Yago. Fifteen years younger, two heads taller - a bear of a man. You are surprised that he does not fight with a hammer or sword, but rather with two daggers - the simple, sleek Crow daggers. Yago is not only strong, but also quick and nimble. His dark eyes flicker like yours - anger, passion, bloodthirst...

If he is impressed by your flame swords, he reveals no more surprise than you do at his prowess. You are both professionals. You still have a fully functional cell - despite some losses. He, Yago, has nothing anymore. All his people are dead, fled or imprisoned in the dungeons under the Arainai complex. Actually, the battle is already decided. Yet, the younger will not surrender. You know he will fight up to the last breath - his or yours.

On his side - youth, strength and the fury of a man who has nothing left to lose. On yours, the better weapons, including lyrium-enchanted elven swords. They are easy to handle, fast, sharp and almost indestructible. And your vast experience. Yet, with experience come drawbacks... your heart tires faster, your muscles hurt more than they did five short years ago. You do not have to do this, do not have to take that risk. Yet, you're doing it because you cannot shy away. You are the master - this is your fight. If you can beat this upstart, you can prove to the others - and yourself - that you still merit the title of Master. It has to do with pride, with ambition and bloodthirst.

So your eyes sparkle, your swords fly. Your pulse races and you ignore the sharp pain in your chest. You only parry and attack and dance and imagine everything runs as well as it did twenty years ago. The sweat falls down your forehead and back, you breathe hard, while the younger looks still fresh. You hope that he does not notice your fatigue. Or maybe ... that he becomes careless and forgets that you can also swing your sword from the left side with astonishing precision.

A rough scream fills the room. You have met his right forearm, cut through several tendons. A dagger falls to the ground. Yago would need only a little time to gather himself. But you don't give him that time. You push your right sword into the back of the man who is bent forward in pain. With a short, guttural sound of disbelief, he falls to the ground. A pool of blood forms on the dark wood of the floor.

You have managed it, you have proven it. Trembling, you reach the massive chair near his desk and fall into it. Your heart rate slowly calms. Your breath hurts and your mouth tastes of blood. But your opponent is dead. How many more such battles will you be able to persevere? How much longer can you live like that?

Dark blue eyes search the small room. They roam over books, papers, weapons and dusty furniture. They pause on a bundle of fur that hangs over an arms stand. Slowly, laboriously, you rise and go over, grunting in appreciation for the animal skin. You touch it and smell it. Good material for winter armor. You take it with you. You look again at the corpse on the ground. Your gaze, which you do not have to hide from anybody, reveals no triumph – only relief. Before you leave the room, your face is opaque again, your perspiration has dried, your pulse is even.


	13. Part I Chapter 12: Three Beds

_Hello, my dear readers. :) I'm still alive, as you can see. But sadly I needed to become ill to finally find enough time to revise the last chapter the great Kyla Baines beta-read for me._

_I thank you very much for your reviews and also the favs and follows. :)_

_If someone knows a good beta reader (for the next chapters) for me - please let me know._

* * *

**I.12 - Three Beds**

This year, the rainy season extended long past its usual end. It was already Bloomingtide, but the precipitation was still incessant. Many streets of Antiva City, and even parts of the Royal Palace were flooded.

A slender figure flitted through the rainy night, merged with the fleeing shadows on the walls of narrow alleys, moving quickly and skillfully. An elf - an assassin - one of the infamous Antivan Crows, perhaps the best of them. Zevran slipped through a skylight into the house. Before he went into his room, he asked a boy for a tub with hot bath water. He closed the door behind him, opened the top drawer of his dresser and put an ornate silver belt buckle in a box crafted of Sylvan wood. Then he began to take off his armor, which was difficult in its wet state. Angrily, he threw the wet boots in a corner - the second pair that had become unusable this year. Fortunately , they were not his best.

A few rooms away on the same floor, another young assassin was lying in his bed. His eyes were closed, the skin over the cheekbones and the wide jaws tense. Slender elven hands went through his short black hair. Taliesen opened his lids and let his gaze wander over Ginera's features - the smooth, light brown skin, gracefully curved eyebrows, the dainty nose, warm lips. His hand went through her brunette curls. Finally, he caressed the tip of her left ear with his fingers. The young elven woman tilted her head to the hand, closed her eyes and swallowed a purr. He knew her so well. Passionately, she covered the neck and upper body of the handsome man with small kisses, stroking his most vulnerable points. But her efforts appeared ineffective.

"Come, relax. You brood too much on everything. That should be his job, not yours."

Taliesen sighed, and a wrinkle formed between his thick eyebrows. "You're right, but ... he did not allow himself even one day of rest, not even after a serious abdominal injury. I was with him; he was almost dead."

"Why so concerned, Taliesen? His wound healed amazingly quickly, don't you think?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders. "Master Antonio accompanied him the next day. I'm pretty sure he knows several healing mages in Antiva."

Ginera snorted in silent contempt. "Preferential treatment for the lap dog - again." In an unconscious movement, the fingers of her left hand stroked her own still-fresh scar on her abdomen. It has healed well, but only because of the ability of the cell's own surgeons. Nobody had called a mage for her.

Taliesen chuckled. "This resentment does not suit you well sweetheart, it makes you look old."

There was a knock and Zevran entered without waiting for a reply. As was his habit after a bath, he wore only simple linen trousers with his upper body bare. His skin was still steaming from the hot water and gave off a pleasant fragrance in the room. He had combed his hair out of the face. It looked darker than usual. Taliesen noticed once again how damn good this young elf looked - the lean, sinewy body, on which the scars here and there appeared like conscious ornamentation, the finely-cut face, whose features were subtly emphasized by the tattooed lines on the left side. But as he knew the elf well, he also noted signs of fatigue under his eyes. The spot on Zevran's stomach where the poisoned dagger had struck had healed without a scar. However, the area was distinctly red. Taliesen wondered if that had anything to do with the healing magic, or was perhaps a sign of an inflammation.

"Speaking of demons ..." Taliesen said, grinning broadly.

Zevran's mouth formed a lewd smile. "Oh? Exactly the sight I had hoped for. Do not let me disturb you, I only seek my second armor. I think I left it in your room." The elf went to an alcove in the back of the room, where a large wardrobe and several chests were situated and began to rummage.

"Why do you need the armor, now?" Taliesen asked skeptically.

"I have to go out again today." The elf continued with his search. "And as appealing as it may seem, I did not want to leave undressed."

"Another mission? You just returned from one. How about relaxing a bit?"

Zevran chuckled. "Ah, do not worry - this is just a simple little job - the captain of a pirate ship. I met his wife, and believe me, that's all I need to relax." He smiled in obvious anticipation.

"A solo mission again? Have you forgotten you have a team, Zevran?"

The elf laughed, "No, no. I will need you soon enough. When a messenger brings news from our scouts in Treviso, the operation against Lorenzo will begin. Prepare yourselves and rest. I need you in top form. Ah, there is the armor, yes!" Zevran took a large bundle and sauntered slowly towards the door.

"So silent now, my beauty?" He smiled at Ginera, passing their bed.

"If you have not noticed yet, you are interrupting something, and I'm not interested in extending your stay here with unnecessary words." Instead of looking at the elf, she turned to Taliesen and caressed the soft spot behind his ear with her tongue.

"I love it when you are so saucy, Ginera." Zevran grinned. "But unfortunately I have no time to elicit more of those lovely words from you. Isabela is waiting." With sweeping steps, he left the room, not without throwing the couple in the bed one last hungry gaze and a regretful sigh.

"You desire him." Ginera said after a few seconds of silence.

Taliesen startled "What makes you think that? Because I was worried? This is a silly quirk of habit. Probably I still consider him my pupil."

"No, because _this_ ..." she emphasized her words by pressing the obvious sign of his arousal gently with her hand, "became hard in the very moment when your eyes wandered over his body."

The young man looked puzzled at the elven woman. He was surprised, caught as a rabbit in a snare. "But I have never... I mean. No, I don't like men this way. I was forced often enough and I have always hated it."

Ginera laughed softly. "Do not be silly, Taliesen. That does not suit you well."

* * *

It was a beautiful property they had bought near Treviso - right on the cliffs overlooking the sea. In the extensive gardens, the tangerine trees were in full bloom. They had heard of the heavy rainfall in the capital. Here, further north, the sky was starry. The high windows of the bedroom were wide open. The filmy white curtains fluttered in the mild night air. Martha heard the sound of the sea, the chirping of crickets, a gentle wind in the trees. The heady scent of flowers drifted to her. But there was yet another noise – a creak in the distance. She'd been frightened out of her light sleep. In a panic, she jumped up, ran to the wide open wings of the window and closed them with trembling arms. Then she leaned breathless and panting against the window frame. Lorenzo woke up, sat up in the bed and looked inquiringly at his wife. "Martha? Is something wrong?"

The portly woman shook her head, sniffled as the tears formed in her eyes. "The window... so... regardless. While..." The tears shook her and left her sentence unfinished. She slid down the window frame until she sat on the floor with her knees bent.

Her husband got up and walked slowly towards the window, sat down beside her and hugged her. "Yes ... I know. I wish I could tell you that you are safe here ... you both, I mean. He touched her round belly with a tender gesture and kissed it. "This is no life anymore. You should not have to live that way - in fear that they could track down and kill us. So please go, as we had planned it, all right?" Lorenzo stroked one of her red cheeks and kissed away a tear. "The coach takes you to the port tomorrow morning, the ship sets off before the first morning mass. In a few weeks you will reach the Free Marches and safety. Are you listening? I'll get to you later... Once I am done here."

Martha nodded at first, but then shook her head again, lifted it and looked at her husband with tears in her face. "I'm afraid that this is our last night. That I never..." Once again the tears choked her words. Lorenzo hugged his wife - as tightly, as lovingly as he could. His view out of the window into the night was full of sadness and worry.

* * *

Somewhere in the vast complex of the Arainai cell in Antiva City an elf was lying in his bed. He slept fitfully, gasping for air. The cheeks were pale and haggard, his long fair hair wet with sweat.


End file.
